


Can We Talk About Us

by orphan_account



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Under-negotiated Kink, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 08:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's not just that Travis seems to like taking care of Nolan, it's that he's really, really good at it.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 32
Kudos: 481





	Can We Talk About Us

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the deal: I promised myself I'd never write RPF and, as I've clearly not been able to keep that promise, I figured if I'm gonna break it I might as well be nasty about it. 
> 
> This is completely unedited and I make no promises of accuracy. I'm here for the nasty and the nasty exclusively. See you in hell 💋

Guys have never been, like, an issue for Nolan, before. Sure, he's messed around a little in school, in juniors, who hasn't? And yeah, somewhere along the line he figured out that maybe he’d like to do more than mess around a little, even told his parents, his sisters and a few of his closer friends. There’d been a bit of awkwardness for a while but that’d pretty much been it. It’s not like he hasn’t had feelings for guys, but he’s never had, like, those serious, drag you down, knock you out feelings, the kind you can’t ignore, and, well, he still likes girls. So, he figures unless those feelings ever do come around for a guy, too strong to be ignored, there isn’t really any reason to worry about it.

It’s that attitude that makes it easy.

Easy to get through juniors without getting attached, get through the draft without worrying anyone is going to know, because there’s nothing _to_ know, not really. Easy not to worry- well, not to have one more thing to worry about when he pulls up to training camp.

* * *

Nothing about Travis is easy.

* * *

They’re put on a line together and when he sees the way Travis grins at him, always grinning at everyone but with something extra that’s only ever directed at him and no one else, an edge of mischief and- something, wide and ridiculous and entirely impossible to ignore, Nolan thinks _‘oh, shit’_.

* * *

Travis looks at Nolan, already so fucking tall and big and still growing into himself. His dumb baby face that everyone already knows is going to shape itself into something devastating in no time. Sees how stoic he seems, quiet and still and maybe even a little bit smarmy, and makes it his personal mission to draw a reaction out of him. 

When he gets Nolan to smile it becomes like an itch he has to scratch.

When he manages a laugh out of him and gets to watch the way his cheeks flush red, see his eyes crinkle up with mirth, he realizes that when Nolan is smiling for real he’s already fucking devastating- especially once it sinks in that he’s smiling for _him_.

Travis looks at Nolan and thinks _‘fuck, yeah’_ and knows he’s as good as done for.

* * *

Sometimes, Nolan wonders if Travis knows. 

He doesn’t think he’s obvious at all, he never has been before, and he’s definitely never been accused of being particularly emotive, so he’s pretty sure he hasn’t given himself away. Still, though, he’s been feeling a bit paranoid.

The thing is, Travis seems to like taking care of him, and Nolan- well, Nolan really likes being taken care of, more than Travis knows. Or, at least more than he’s supposed to know, anyways. And really, if that were all there was to it, it might be fine, but Travis doesn’t just like taking care of him, he’s also really fucking good at it. Good enough that Nolan can’t help being a bit suspicious, some days, and finds the idea of ignoring it even more impossible.

* * *

It starts small enough.

Travis picks up on the fact that Nolan can’t tie a tie quick enough, and he chirps him for it, which Nolan expected, but as he does he also steps in close and reaches up to tug at the strip of cloth draped over Nolan’s neck, realigning it, tying it, and making him presentable. That, he did not expect. Travis is close enough that he can feel the heat of his breath through the material of his shirt, against his chest, as he laughs at his own stupid chirps and Nolan just concentrates on cursing his stupid, ruddy cheeks and taking comfort in the knowledge that Travis will probably just assume he’s gone red because he’s embarrassed over his lack of basic life skills.

When he tightens the tie around Nolan’s neck there’s a moment that gets away from him, his palms start to sweat and his heartbeat ticks up and he thinks-

Travis steps back, but not before he runs his knuckles down the tie, burning a trail straight down Nolan’s chest with a satisfied grin.

“Thanks, Trav.” Nolan mumbles, trying not to make his relieved exhale too obvious as he speaks.  
“Anytime.” Travis replies with the same tease of a grin he’s always wearing. 

Travis means it, and Nolan takes him up on it, cause hey, he still doesn’t actually know how to do it himself. Travis would teach him if he asked but, honestly, he can’t quite deny himself the easy pleasure of having Travis do something so- so fucking intimate- domestic, for him. He makes sure that Travis always ties it before he puts it on, though. He knows there’s no way he’s a good enough actor to keep hiding it- this- whatever, otherwise. Tells himself that’s definitely not disappointment that flashes across Travis' face the next day when he hands it over instead of asking him to invade his space again. 

Fuck. He’s really not a good liar.

* * *

From there, things only get harder to ignore and Nolan both loves and hates it.

Travis chirps him relentlessly, clearly gets way too much of a kick out of making him go red, which he hates with a particular kind of passion, and loves to remind him that facial hair doesn’t actually count as facial hair if you cannot, in fact, grow it on your face. Like he has much room to talk. He’s extremely terrible at setting up the x-box on the road, which he claims is definitely unintentional when he’s still fucking with it after twenty minutes, despite the fact that he insists he be the one to do it every time. All the while, though, he’s right there, making sure Nolan's favourite foods are always in the kitchen at the arena, keeping his favourite beer stocked up in his own apartment, sneaking ice cream that definitely isn’t on their diet plan into the hotel rooms.

Whenever Nolan goes down on ice, Travis is right there, jawing at whoever hit him loudly and angrily enough that Nolan thinks it’s a good thing they’re on a line together, otherwise Travis would probably jump the damn bench to get to at them.

He’s there whenever Nolan gets sick, whenever he gets injured. Hangs around and makes sure he eats, makes sure he sleeps, doesn’t spend too much time sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He’s just- there.

Travis is good to him, mostly, Travis takes care of him without making him feel like an idiot about it and Nolan just- fuck, wishes he would stop because it’s getting his wires all crossed and somehow never, ever wants him to stop, all at once.

* * *

“There’s a place opening up, here. A few floors up.” Travis’ tone is casual, but the nervous set of his shoulders gives him away. Travis isn’t even looking at him from where he’s sprawled out on the other end of the sectional and Nolan’s heart is beating hard enough he hears the rush of it in his ears, feels a little dizzy with it. It’s fucking embarrassing, how badly he wants Travis to want him here.

“Oh, yeah? I’ll check it out.” He has no idea what the fuck his voice sounds like, right now, but whatever it is, it’s enough to make Travis smile that stupid, goofy smile with an edge that always comes out after a particularly greasy goal, like he’s gotten away with something, and Nolan’s never really seen that smile off-ice, never just for him, before. It’s definitely something.

* * *

Nolan gets the apartment upstairs and Travis immediately launches into excited suggestions about furniture shopping, it makes something in Nolan’s chest go all gooey even as he lies to himself and thinks, pointedly, that that’s not the only reason he got the apartment. It’s in a good location and it’s well priced and- and they can carpool. That’s, like, good for the environment and shit.

Travis more or less tackles him into something resembling a hug and when he pulls back he’s smiling and Nolan- Nolan really isn’t sure why he bothers denying this is anything but what it is, at this point.

* * *

The thing is- it’s just- it isn’t just that Travis likes taking care of him, or even that he does it so well. It’s that Travis is a little rough with him, too.

Maybe it sounds stupid, everyone is rough with him, after all. He’s big and he’s a hockey player, he’s grown up in locker rooms and on ice, surrounded by idiots who love roughhousing as much as anyone, but with Travis it’s different. It’s so specifically what Nolan needs, even when he’s not totally aware of it. Just a hint at something more. Travis is so good at it, so in tune with what he needs, it’s almost eerie. Just another thing that makes him wonder, sometimes.

Travis does the normal stuff, too, pushing him around and bumping into him the way everyone does, shoving at each other and tripping each other on ice during practice until they get yelled at to settle down like fucking kids, wrestling each other over game controllers- never mind the fact that they’re usually playing multiplayer anyways, there’s always one controller that’s better than the other, everyone knows it and technically the x-box is Nolan’s so really, _he_ should get the better one, it’s a perfectly sound reason to get all tangled up together. None of that stuff gets to him, though, it’s- the other stuff.

* * *

They come off of a rough loss and Nolan’s sitting in his stall, refusing to look at anyone because he can’t help but feel personally responsible, games like this. He’s the second overall draft pick, he knows it’s a team effort, yeah, knows it’s about all of them, about their chemistry as a unit, but he also knows the franchise has a lot riding on this. On him. Knows he’s supposed to be better out there, supposed to be great. It’s hard not to get stuck in his head about it all, and he’s trying but- but it’s fucking hard, is all. He always knew it wasn’t going to be easy, nothing he’s loved doing has ever been easy, but it’s never been like this, either.

He’s not really very aware of the rest of the room, too busy sinking into the type of self-loathing fret that’ll have him losing sleep if he’s not careful, which is the last thing he needs when they’ve got another game tomorrow, when Travis drops into the stall next to him and curls a hand over the back of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try and make him talk or even look up, silent for once and entirely unyielding. Hand gripping the nape of his neck firmly enough to be both a comfort and a reprimand and it’s just- exactly what needs to let a little bit of the tension leave his body, slump a little under Travis’ grasp, let a little bit of the anger and frustration that’s been making his chest burn and his skin itch seep out of his bones. He hopes the relief in his sigh doesn’t sound as obvious as it feels, but he can’t bring himself to care enough to look up and see what Travis’ face is doing, what he thinks is happening, right now. Travis doesn’t move his hand away, doesn’t let up, and that’s all Nolan needs, right now. He’ll worry about the rest later.

It’s easy to lose track of time, lose track of the rest of the world, really. Nolan’s not sure how long they stay there or who else is still left in the room, but he feels Travis’ thumb swipe just along the edge of his pulse point, a few times, and, for once, lets himself focus, just a little, on the way it sets his skin on fire. Wonders if Travis can feel how his heart ticks up, if he’s even noticed.

Eventually, though, Travis pulls back, lets his hand go lax and slip down onto Nolan’s back a bit before it’s gone entirely. Nolan feels cold where he’d run his fingers, feels the aching of his muscles come back to him, though none of it quite shakes the warm haze that’d filled his brain with cotton at Travis’ touch.

“You good?” He asks, when Nolan looks up at him, feeling more bleary than he’d expected. God, he’s tired. Could probably have fallen asleep with Travis’ hand on him, like that. He shakes it off a little, sitting up in his stall, once again aware he’s in a room filled with sweaty, loud assholes who know him a little too well to be acting like this.  
“Yeah,” His throat’s gone a bit dry. “I’m good.”

_’Thank you,’_ is what he doesn’t say. What he’s not sure he could. Not sure he should.

He doesn’t have to, though. It becomes a regular thing, anyways.

* * *

When Nolan’s feeling restless on the plane, self aware enough to know it’s already unusual for him and someone’s bound to notice, doing his best to keep it low key, bouncing his leg under the blanket while he and Travis argue about what to watch, Travis’ hand comes down on his thigh to stop him from moving, grips just tight enough that Nolan thinks he might get to see the bruises of it when he showers, later, and just- leaves it there. Travis doesn’t acknowledge it, and it dazes him just enough that Travis takes his silence as acquiescence and happily sets up his laptop with one hand, which looks fucking stupid, to put on a movie Nolan has already forgotten the name of. He can’t even bring himself to chirp him for it because he’s afraid if he acknowledges what Travis is doing, he’ll just stop altogether.

About twenty minutes in, once they’ve both gone relatively quiet, with the exception of occasionally making fun of whatever’s happening on screen, Travis’ thumb starts running the inside of his thigh, digging in just a little, like he’s massaging the muscle. He’s almost positive it’s not consciously done, Travis is always moving, always twitching, it sits a lot more natural on him than it does Nolan and at this point, he hardly even notices him doing it, most of the time.

Of course, most of the time it doesn’t mean sending almost painful bolts of arousal up the inside of Nolan’s thigh, straight to his dick. The fact that he doesn’t pop a stiffy right there on the flight, twenty minutes into a movie he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t even be able to name a single thing that’s happened in so far if he hadn’t been paying desperately close attention to it in an attempt to distract himself from the heat of Travis’ hand on his thigh,is nothing short of a miracle he attributes mostly to Voráček’s snoring a few rows back.

By the time they’re landing, Travis pulls his hand away and it occurs to Nolan, somewhat hysterically, that he’s pretty sure he’d mentioned wanting to see this movie, like, last week. He thinks about Travis taking care of him, being rough with him, and wonders if they’re not one in the same.

* * *

Eventually, the illusion shatters.

Nolan’s been letting himself think this will all be alright. Letting himself figure that this thing- crush, whatever, with Travis will run its course and peter out and once it does he can go back to acting like a normal fucking human being around him, if he ever had. But now they’re almost three years deep and Nolan’s on IR and nothing is going the way it’s supposed to. Nolan watches the games on TV, brightness and volume turned down probably more than they need to be, and aches palpably to be out there, with the team. Watches Travis on the ice, scoring and fighting and killing it without him and feels _jealous_. Not jealous that he’s playing or jealous of the team- well, not _just_ jealous over those things, but jealous over him. Jealous because he should be the one scoring off Travis' passes, he should be the one jumping into fights with him and-

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

This is- this is exactly the type of shit Nolan has been so careful to never let happen. Exactly the type of shit that makes this a problem, and he’s not stupid enough not to realize what’s going on. Nolan’s- Nolan’s in love. With Travis.

It’s absolutely fucking stupid. He knows that, he’s always known that, and that’s why he’s never let himself end up in this situation before. Not fucking once. Not until Travis came into his life and, bearing roughly the same amount of decorum with which he handles everything else in his life, which is to say none at all, totally fucking twisted up Nolan’s life with his awful rat beard and his inability to let anything go, ever. Turned everything right the fuck upside down without even having a clue- or, maybe- who knows. Whatever. Without acknowledging a single thing because he probably doesn’t even know there’s anything to acknowledge and really, that's what’s driving Nolan truly crazy.

The thing is, Nolan is no chickenshit. No, really, he’s not. He knows Travis has noticed something is off, he’s been- weird. He knows this. Redder than normal, quieter than normal, probably way too eager to say yes to whatever dumb shit Travis asks him to do and he knows he’s gotta clear the air. He even _wants_ to clear the air. It’s just- he knows that as soon as he tells Travis he has fucking _feelings,_ Travis is going to stop teasing him and touching him and try to be all nice and considerate and shit about it and that’s exactly what he doesn’t want. He wants to be able to say it just to say it and then they can go back to normal- whatever that is, for them- and Travis can keep being an asshole and nothing really has to change. He wants them to just keep being them, but that’s not going to happen, and that really, really fucking sucks.

Fuck it, though. He has to say something. Has to just man up and rip off the band-aid.

* * *

He puts it off so long that it’s starting to feel too-late to say anything at all.

He promises himself he's going to do it soon, no other choice.

Doesn't make the thought any less thoroughly fucking mortifying, though.

* * *

When he can’t manage to grow the stones to actually talk to Travis, he does the only other thing he can think to do, he avoids him.

It’s easy-ish, at first, but Nolan can’t help thinking, somewhat bitterly, that this would’ve been an easier thing to face a few weeks ago, when he was hardly around the team at all. Nolan’s not playing right now, and he’s not even fully participating in practices, but he is still attending every home game and practice, suited up and sitting up in the press box when they play, hanging around the locker room with the guys before and after games. He appreciates it, knows it’s par for the course, everyone on the team is on the team, a part of things, whether they’re able to play at the moment or not. It just doesn’t make things easy, is all. Not in this way, at least. So, he stops answering Trav's texts with anything more than monosyllabic replies, if at all, always finds one of the other guys to bother in the locker room so he doesn’t have to sit in his unused stall next to Travis, where there’s no excuse to get some distance from him.

Whenever he spots Travis looking increasingly pissed and trying to corner him after games, he begs off with mumbled and frankly unbelievable excuses that should probably be embarrassing, at this point, just so he can escape in time. He gets some weird looks for it and by now he knows he’s probably just making things even weirder than they would’ve been if they’d just talked but- he just- can’t.

* * *

It works, sort of.

Right up until it doesn’t.

* * *

Nolan comes home and finds Travis standing in his living room, looking extremely pissed off and Nolan can tell just from the way he holds himself that he’s determined not to move or be moved any time soon. There’s a half-second where his brain stutters and he wonders if he’s walked into the wrong apartment, somehow, but no- no, this is definitely his apartment, and that’s definitely his- Travis. Shit. 

“Trav-“ He starts, but Travis doesn’t let him get far with it.  
“Oh, so you do still remember my name. Wasn’t sure, what with the way you’ve been fuckin avoiding me.”  
“I haven’t been-“  
“Patty, fuck off.”

And, yeah- okay. That was obviously never gonna fly. They both know Nolan’s been avoiding him, he’s been anything but subtle.

“Listen, man,” He tries, consciously repressing the urge to wring his hands and forcing himself to stand still, look Travis in the eyes. He wants to fucking turn around and walk right back out the door, but he’s filled with the horrible certainty that the only thing worse than Travis chasing him down and demanding answers would be if he didn’t even bother, and if Nolan walks away he really might not, so he stays put. “I’ve just been feeling kind of shitty, you know?”

A wave of guilt passes over Travis’ face, looking almost as strong as the guilt welling up in Nolan’s own gut, making him feel sick with it. Using his health to avoid this conversation, but anger overtakes Travis’ features quick enough, and when he steps forward looking ready for a fight Nolan backs himself into the door without even realizing it. He's definitely not afraid Travis is gonna hit him, but he is also definitely not feeling particularly jazzed about the way this conversation is going, even if he knows it's his own fault it's come to this.

“No, okay? No. I’ve been around you when you’re sick before, and when you’re injured, and you never pulled this shit before, so tell me what’s up with you, for real.”

Nolan- Nolan can’t, and he doesn’t even know what leaves his mouth next but then Travis is yelling at him and Nolan shoves him, Travis shoves him back, even though there’s nowhere to go, and before long shit just goes sideways. They’re grappling and- well, Travis is fucking wiley, is the thing. Logically, physically, there’s no way he should be able to pin Nolan, and yet- yet here he is, With Travis dangerously low down on his stomach, one arm curled around both of his own, hand gripping his wrists like a vice, and the other pressing down on Nolan’s chest, making it impossible for him to get any leverage.

Nolan almost wishes he could say he lets Travis win because he wants to, then at least he’d have some modicum of control, and if he had some control, maybe this wouldn’t be quite so- well. It wouldn’t be so much, but it wasn’t on purpose, and he’s not in control, not in control at all and Travis, like the extremely mature adult he is, fucking settles in and sits on him. If Nolan were any less fucking embarrassed, or Travis were any less fucking relentless, it wouldn’t work and he definitely wouldn’t manage to hold him down, but they aren't, and he does.

“Get off me, you fucking-“  
“Not a chance, Pattycakes.” Travis cuts him off, sharp enough to curb any argument. “We’re staying here until you tell me what the hell is going on with you.”

Nolan wants to deny it, yell that there’s nothing fucking wrong with him but there will be if Travis doesn’t get the fuck off him but- well, that won’t work, for multiple reasons. Nolan defaults to silence.

“Come on, Pats,” Travis tries, he still sounds frustrated, angry, but there’s something else underneath the obvious, an edge that makes Nolan's heart ache when he follows it up with, “What’d I do, man?“  
“What? No, Teeks-“  
“Fuck, was I just- too much? Man, you should’ve said something-“  
“Travis, would you just shut the fuck up?” Nolan near yells, feeling overwhelmed and more than a little guilty. He finally stops struggling under Travis’ weight and drops back to the floor with a sigh. Travis’ grip doesn’t relent and he wishes he even wanted it to. He won’t meet Travis' eyes when he speaks. "It’s not that. I’m not fucking- tired of you. Or whatever, okay? It’s not about that.”

“No? Then what’s it about, man? And don’t even try to tell me it’s not about me cause you’re not pulling any of this stupid squirrelly shit with anyone else.”

Nolan worries at his lip and finally looks up at Travis before he speaks.

“It’s about you, yeah.” And- fuck. The way Travis' face fucking falls, crumpling in on itself, it makes his chest sting in the worst way, Travis’ grip isn’t even tight anymore, Nolan can literally feel the fight leave him and it’s just so- not Travis. “Not, like- it’s not like it sounds, man. It’s- it's complicated, alright?”  
“Complicated how?” Travis asks, stubborn.  
“Look, I just- I can’t fuckin explain and trust me, man, you wouldn’t want to hear it, anyways-“  
“How the fuck do you know that? You don’t know what I want to hear-“  
“Trav, man, come on-“  
“No, listen-“  
“Travis-“

“Nolan.“ Travis snaps back at him, and there’s just something about his voice when he does it. It’s- maybe it’s the way he says his name, his actual name, not fucking Pats or Pattycakes or anything else, the way it sounds, the way Travis’ voice drops into something heavy, more of a command than a request, or, maybe, it’s the hand on that still presses him down at the chest. Pressing just a bit harder, taking just a bit more of Travis’ weight. Only just skirting the base of his throat with firm enough pressure to make him feel grounded. Feel known.

Whatever it is, Nolan knows Travis’ is expecting him to push back, struggle, fight, but before he can manage to overthink it, a sigh escapes him and he feels the tension that’s pulled every muscle taught go lax, his body pleased to have the pressure of Travis’ hand at the base of his throat, reacting before his mind has even had a chance to catch up. There’s a split second where he loses himself in that feeling, just a little, can’t even help it, then he catches sight of Travis staring down at him where he’s let himself sink down against the floor, too relaxed by the touch. There's a question set in the line of his brow and Nolan feels the tension lance out through his nerves, a sharp sting all across his skin, leaving him painfully aware of the nervous torrent of want that’s thrumming electric under his skin.

He watches, petrified, as Travis’ eyes go wide and dark, watches the realization wash over his face, all the while paralyzed by a lack of sureness in what he’s seeing that has him feeling the weight of every inordinately heavy breath like lead, terrified that he’s fucked everything up. Before that fear can truly take root, though, Travis’ hand slips upwards and over his throat, Nolan feels every inch of skin Travis passes over like his touch has left a brand in its wake and gives in to the urge to tilt his head back with a heavy exhale, eyes falling shut, head spinning with how fast his blood rushes south. Travis squeezes, just a little, nail of his thumb biting into the skin of Nolan’s neck the barest bit, a shadow of what he wants, and Nolan feels his cheeks go hot, relaxes into the hold even as the coiling heat in his gut twists itself up tighter and more urgent.

“Oh.” Travis breathes above him, full of understanding and something else that sounds a lot like the dizzying want buzzing through Nolan’s nerves and setting his veins on fire feels. Travis squeezes tighter and Nolan whines, low and airy under his breath, and when he hears the punched out, wounded noise that leaves Travis he knows there’s no going back. Not for either of them.

Travis squeezes a little tighter, and- “Look at me.” Nolan’s eyes fly open on reflex and Travis shudders, fingers letting up to run the length of Nolan’s throat almost reverently.

“Fuck, yeah, baby, I knew it.” Nolan feels the heat rush to his cheeks, more at the pleased weight that curls itself up in Nolan’s gut at _‘baby’_ than at the nickname itself.  
“Don’t fucking call me baby.” He bites back, but Travis just grins down at him like a fucking maniac, pushing forward so he can pin Nolan’s hands up over his head and end up almost face-to-face with him.  
“Think I can call you whatever the fuck I want to, _baby_ , after the shit you’ve been pulling.” Travis’ grin takes on a wicked edge, then, and the whiplash of going from guilty and miserable to so turned on so very fast has Nolan a little dizzy. “Think you’ll even like it, won’t you-“ He grins even wider- really, it’s more of a smirk, at this point- before following up with, “Sweetcheeks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Nolan groans, pretending he isn’t pleased as fuck to have Travis teasing him again, not to mention- everything else, “You’re such an asshole."  
“I’m an asshole, really? You’re the one who fucking fell of the face off the earth because you couldn’t just tell me you want the-“  
“I swear to god, Trav, if you finish that fucking sentence you’re never gonna get to give it to me.”

Travis laughs, face dropping down to nose at the hollow of Nolan’s throat as he does. He can feel the humid heat of Travis breath against his skin, feel the scratch of his stupid, awful beard, and he knows there’s more that needs to be said, apologies that need to be made, but-  
“It’s more than that though, right?” Nolan can feel the vibration of Travis’ question through his own skin, they’re so close.  
“Yeah.” He swallows, knows Travis must be able to feel it. “It’s a lot more than that.”  
“Good.” Travis says, low, and he seals it with a kiss to the base of Nolan’s throat that makes him all fucking choked up with want and love and a million other things that he doesn’t have time to drown in because Travis shifts up and steals the taste of everything Nolan isn’t saying right off his tongue, hand on his throat dipping back to cup his neck, thumb dragging across his jaw.

It feels fucking fantastic, better than he ever thought it would be. Messy and deep and so, so full of want that if Nolan could think through it at all he’d probably wonder how he ever could’ve missed this. Ever could have doubted Travis wanted him back just as bad.

* * *

It’s strange, how he feels, hyper-aware of every second as it's passing, every point of contact between them, yet he'd be hard-pressed to guess how long they stay there, pressed together on the floor, to save his life. Too caught up in Travis’ tongue in his mouth, the wet, desperate sounds between them, the weight that holds him down. He doesn’t even care about the ache crawling up his neck, just beginning to nudge at the back of his head, but Travis must notice something’s off because he’s the one to pull back, pushing Nolan back to the floor when he tries to follow- fucking _whines_. Awful.

“Come on, Pats. Pretty sure you’ve got a bed around here, somewhere.”  
“Fuck, who cares I just wanna-“ Travis makes a face like he’s considering something, weighing his options, before he cuts Nolan off, voice heavy.  
“I’m not asking, babe.” It should sound stupid, it should sound ridiculous and lame and annoying but-  
“Yeah. Ok.” Nolan swallows and takes the hand Travis offers as he pulls himself up to his feet. He can’t even really bring himself to be bothered cause yeah, that’s Travis, always looking out for him.

* * *

He’s way too into the way Travis practically shoves him down the hall and into the bedroom like he’s got every right to and, if Nolan’s being honest with himself, at this point he pretty much does. See, Nolan knows how he looks. Knows he’s fucking pretty, girlish, even, at the right angle, but he’s also big. Big and broad with a voice that finished puberty while the rest of him was still playing catch up. Big enough that not very many people are really going to try and push him around off ice, big enough that no one has ever really been able to see past it enough to figure out what he wants- what he needs. What he’s still figuring out himself.

No one has ever even had the nerve to try, and when he thinks of it that way it’s almost laughably obvious that he’s ended up here, because of course, of _course_ if anyone was ever going to be able to summon the nerve to push Nolan around the way he wants, it’d be Travis. Travis, who’s made of nerve and little else, who watches him so closely that there’s no way he hasn’t heard more of what he doesn’t say than what he does, more than anyone else. The fact that he’s really been able to tell himself whatever’s been happening between them was just buddies until today- Nolan’s parents have always said he tends to have blinders on when it comes to a decision he’s already made and, yeah, there might be something to that.

* * *

There’s something fucking electric about finally getting to put his hands on Travis the way he’s wanted to for months- fuck, years. Finally getting to feel Travis up against him, grasping and pulling and _wanting_. Now that he knows what it feels like, he’s not sure how he ever lived without it. They’ve only barely managed to drag themselves from the wall and Travis' hands are shoving up under his shirt- he’s not sure at what point he lost his suit jacket, but it’s already long gone- tugging at the buttons, Nolan’s almost certain he pops a few off and he’ll have to bitch at him for it later, just to see him whine about it, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He pulls and shoves until he manages to get it open so he can shove it back off of Nolan’s shoulders and Nolan really can’t remember the last time he felt less able to breathe with his shirt off, but here they are.

He hasn’t felt this exposed in a long, long time, but the way Travis immediately groans and sets himself to mouthing at Nolan’s collar bone, the way he drags blunt nails up Nolan’s ribs, down his back, everywhere he can reach, makes it exhilarating instead of nerve-wracking and Nolan wants- Nolan wants everything.

It’s ridiculous, how much everything feels. Every sensation felt in details so overwhelming it’s impossible to keep track of it all, the buttons of Travis’ shirt biting into the tips of his fingers as he pinches too hard working his shirt open with desperate fingers, the scrape of Travis’ teeth under the hollow of his throat, the heat of his mouth and the way his skin goes cold after, wet and bare.

He’s just gotten Travis’ shirt open, and thank god, cause now Travis’ hands have dropped down, one yanking at his belt, entirely uncoordinated and ineffective, but the other is busy working its way into the back of Nolan’s slacks to grope at his ass and Travis doesn’t seems particularly willing to move it. Nolan understands the issue. Feels Travis fingers digging into the muscle of his ass, hips jumping forward to grind up against Travis and he can feel the hard line of his cock against his hip and it’s just- it’s too fucking much and he never wants it to stop.

They stay like that, groaning and grinding up against each other, and Nolan is distantly aware that Travis is saying something, something fucking sweet and ridiculous and more than a little bit filthy that’ll probably embarrass them both once they’re back in their right minds, but any thought Nolan could spare for his words dies when Travis finally gets his pants open with a noise of triumph and then he’s shoving his slacks and underwear down past his knees and pushing him backwards onto the bed without a moment wasted.

It’s not exactly elegant, the way he’s sprawled out, but he’s too busy watching Travis to feel particularly self-conscious over it. Travis, who is currently busy wrestling Nolan’s shoes off so he can get the rest of his clothes off completely. He’s flushed and smiling so fucking stupid it’d be downright hilarious if it weren’t for the scrape of the duvet cover under Nolan’s bare thighs every time Travis tugs at his legs, keeping him from forgetting the situation. From forgetting that he’s here, naked in his bed with Travis, finally.

“Excited?” Nolan teases as Travis finally gets his shoes off with a delighted cry of success, the last of his clothes following quickly, before looking back up at Nolan. He stares for half a second with an expression that makes Nolan feel trapped in the best possible way, before practically launching himself at him. He throws himself up between Nolan’s thighs, making him shudder at the weight of him, the feeling of Travis’ suit pants, about to be a lost cause with the way Nolan can feel himself already beginning to leak onto his own stomach, scraping over the sensitive skin of his cock and thighs as Travis is settling in to press their lips together, messy and definitely more than a little excited.

“Fuck, Patty,” Nolan feels the words fall low and heavy against his own lips, spoken into the breath they share, “Anyone ever tell you it’s sick how good you look, like this?” Nolan laughs, breath hitching as Travis’ hands come up to skim up along the backs of Nolan’s thighs as he squeezes them around Travis’ waist. There’s a heavy, roiling type of want stirring inside him, so fucking strong, making it almost too easy to let his legs fall open when Travis begins to slip down, skin over skin lighting up every frayed nerve, kissing and biting at his neck, his collar, his chest as he goes, even with the dregs of his shame weighing at the edges of his mind. In a way, that makes it even better, the niggling sense that he should be embarrassed, that he’s- he’s _debasing_ himself, being easy like this, just for Travis. It’s not the first time he’s felt this, lingering somewhere under his skin when he lets Travis poke and prod and embarrass him like he wouldn’t with anyone else, but it is the first time he’s really understood it so clearly. He’s not sure whether or not it’s actually much of a surprise how simple it feels.

Eventually, Travis pulls away entirely, and Nolan tries not to dwell too much on how fucking needy the noise he lets out in response is, tries and fails even harder not to revel in the way his chest heats up at Travis’ “Shh, just a second, baby,” punctuated by a kiss just inside his thigh before Travis rolls away.

It’s difficult to stop himself from staring, for a moment, before Nolan realizes there’s no real reason to try and lets himself watch Travis, looking like a mess, all red in the face and chest, hair everywhere from Nolan’s figures, bulge in his slacks Nolan tries not to stare at too intensely otherwise he’ll fucking cry if he doesn’t get his hands- mouth, anything on it, soon. Travis seems to be having just as much trouble focusing on whatever he’s doing- pulling his shirt the rest of the way off, and grabbing at a pillow, fumbling and swearing to himself every time he can’t help looking back at Nolan.

“Roll over for me.” It’s not mean, but it’s not a question, either, and the way Travis seems to know exactly how he needs it makes him shiver. He shifts and Travis grabs his hips, more or less manhandling him onto his stomach, slipping a pillow under his hips and making him groan with the friction it lends. He can’t help rocking down into it a little and Travis swats him on the ass, just hard enough to make him jump.

“Did you just-“  
“Don’t fucking come yet, Jesus, dude.” Travis sounds pained.  
“I wasn’t going to-“  
“Bullshit, Patty. You’re ready to blow already, barely going to take anything at all-“  
“Trav, would you just shut the fuck up-“  
“Nah, not a chance.” There’s something a bit amused in Travis’ voice, but Nolan doesn’t have much chance to analyze it before Travis is leaning over him, not quite close enough for Nolan to take his weight, but close enough to feel the rough bulge in his trousers, the cool metal of his belt, up against the cleft of his ass and Travis is right, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t come right then. “That’s not really what you want, is it, baby?” He runs the hand that isn’t holding him up along Nolan’s side, all the way to his shoulder before bringing it over to drag down his spine, pressing down over the small of his back. “I’m mouthy and you like it. Bet you even fucking get off on it, huh, Pattycakes?” Travis must be able to see his flush on the back of his neck because he just pulls away and laughs, “I fucking knew it,” but it’s mostly gone from his voice when he speaks again.

“Spread your knees for me, a little." Nolan does, spreads his thighs, legs bent at the knees, letting Travis nudge them open even further with warm hands as he buries his face in his arms and focuses on breathing. The feeling of the bed shifting behind him as Travis settles himself there, arms coming to rest against the backs of his thighs having the dual effect of setting Nolan’s heart back to racing and anchoring him in place. Feels him shift, feels his hands come up to drag, full and flat, up the backs of his thighs, thumbs dragging along the skin where his ass begins to swell before moving up to palm at him properly.

“Fuck.” Travis breathes, and he can feel the heat of his breath right up against him, feel how fucking exposed he is with Travis gripping at his ass, spreading him open. The wave of humiliated arousal hits him so hard, so fast it leaves his head spitting. Leaves him worried he might beg and- fuck, fuck it.

“Teeks- Travis, come on. I need-“  
“Don’t worry, baby.” Travis soothes. “I got you."

He leans forward to nip at the swell of his ass and it startles a laugh out of Nolan that tapers off into a groan when he follows it up by leaning in even closer and pressing an open-mouthed kiss right to the knot of his tailbone. Travis kisses and nips and sucks his way down and Nolan barely notices his own fingers going so tight in the sheets his knuckles creak as an unbelievably weighty warmth presses out from his abdomen, growing heavier by the second.

By the time Travis finally gets there, spreads him wide and presses his tongue up against Nolan where he’s hardly even taken the time to touch himself, let alone had anyone else, he’s a shuddering mess of nerves and want and just far enough gone to push back when he feels Travis’ tongue prodding at his asshole, using the leverage Travis’ elbows anchoring his thighs to the bed allows.

“So fucking tight,” Travis groans, pulling away just enough to get his thumb, slick with saliva, pressed up against Nolan, instead, “Can’t even get you open, like that. Fuck.” Christ- it fucking- it sounds like something Travis should be saying to a girl, sounds reverent and filthy and desperate and Nolan can already feel his balls getting heavy, aching with the inevitability of release. Travis spends a minute just playing with him, pushing and tugging at the ring of muscle, Nolan can feel himself fluttering in response and the thought of Travis watching brings a sting of shame that makes it hard not to come. When he finally, finally pushes the pad of his thumb in, slow but steady until he’s all the way in, right down to the second knuckle, Nolan lets out a moan that makes Travis swear behind him and his hips can’t seem to figure out of they want to push back into the feeling of Travis inside him or pull away.

“Jesus Christ, Nolan.” Travis groans, pulling his finger back to push it in again, and just hearing his voice- the reminder that it’s Travis, here. Travis and no one else, Travis who fucking wants him enough to sound like _that_ , it’s got him just saying Travis’ name, not even sure why, but Travis seems to appreciate it. When he feels him bring another wet thumb up, just teasing, for now, he speaks without thinking.

“Don’t- not too much, still wanna feel you.” Travis shudders against him, and it’s then that he realizes he’s more or less just asked him to fuck him. It’s not like it hasn’t been clear up to this point, he’s pretty sure, but still.  
“I promise you’ll feel me, baby.” Is what he chooses to follow up with, Nolan groans.  
“That was fucking awful.”  
“Shut up,” Travis half laughs. “You’re into it.” God help him, he really, really is.

This time, when Travis pushes two thumbs into him, Nolan _feels_ it. Not that he couldn’t feel it before, but this time there’s just the slightest burn to the stretch, he has to fight a little harder against his instincts not to clench down, let himself open up for Travis’ touch. The air around him feels almost stifling, warm and humid from hiding in the crook of his own elbow, but he can’t find it in himself to shuffle once he finally relaxes. Travis keeps up a steady stream of praise and filthy that makes Nolan feel almost as touched as he does horny, makes him feel incredibly, unbelievably wanted as Travis strokes and tugs and crooks his fingers, licking and kissing and nipping along his thighs, his ass, and speaking into his skin.

When Nolan feels him tug him open just a little more than he has so far, he barely has a moment to cry out before he can feel Travis’ tongue pushing inside him, wriggling and strange and so unlike anything Nolan’s ever felt before he’s not even sure how he feels about it. Fuck it’s- he should be disgusted, he should definitely be disgusted, Travis’ tongue is inside his ass, for fuck’s sake, but christ, it feels amazing. Entirely bizarre and unbearably intimate, invasive in a way he wouldn’t have expected to feel good but it does. It really, really does. He’s so far gone, caught up in the feeling of it, by the time he feels his balls pull tight and the hot, swollen throb of arousal at its peak in his gut it’s too late to stop his orgasm from punching out of him. Almost painful in its intensity, squeezing the breath right out of his lungs, making his muscles go tight all over, from his head down to his toes, before it all washes away at once, leaving him to sink, heavy and sated and feeling like he’s made of molasses as he distantly mourns the feeling of Travis’ fingers and mouth when he pulls away.

Travis crawls back up the bed and tugs at him, rolling him over. He feels cold where the air hits his stomach, still wet from his own mess, and sends a shiver of interwoven disgust and residual arousal up his spine that kind of makes him want to cover his face. He doesn’t get a chance, though, before Travis is diving in deep for a kiss, letting himself collapse half on-top of him and running his hands all along Nolan’s skin, pressing bruises for tomorrow in where he grips particularly tight.

It’s easy to let himself languish in the kiss, sink into every push and pull, easy to find a rhythm with Travis and sink his fingers into his air, not let either of them pull away until their lungs burn. Every time the fabric of Travis’ slacks brushes up against his cock it sends a sharp shock of _too much_ screaming out through his nerves, but he can feel the way Travis is hard up against him, feel the heat of it even through the cloth. It makes him want to give Travis whatever he’ll take, makes him want to be whatever he needs.

They’re almost curled into each other and Nolan reaches down and gets a hand between them to run his fingers over the crook of Travis’ hip, loves the way Travis groans into his mouth, messy and shamelessly pressing forward into the touch, but when he goes to cup Travis’ cock he’s stopped by Travis’ hand, firm around his wrist. He’s not sure what his face is doing when Travis pulls back to look at him, but when Travis asks, “Yeah?” what Nolan means to answer with is _‘yeah’_ but what comes out instead is “Please,” and that’s- fuck. Travis groans again, diving back in for a kiss, rougher and more rushed than the last, but doesn’t let go of Nolan’s wrist until he pulls back again with eyes that burn so bright Nolan’s never again going to be able to see anything else when he closes his eyes, he’s sure of it.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for me, baby?”

* * *

It takes a little maneuvering, Nolan still feeling more than a little uncoordinated with his orgasm and Travis clumsy with want, but in the end Nolan’s on his knees on the pillow Travis put on the floor at the edge of the bed for him, and Travis is there, sitting at the edge of the bed, cock straining at the suit pants Nolan’s already ruined rubbing up against him.

“You good?” Travis asks, once he’s comfortable. Maybe it’d sound like too little coming from anyone else, but he can see the concern written over Travis’ features, sincere, if more than a little clouded by lust. Can feel the surprising tenderness with which Travis reaches out to run his fingers through Nolan’s hair. All things considered, coming from Travis, it’s exactly right.

The truth is, Nolan- Nolan is a little nervous. The thing is, he hasn’t really sucked a lot of dick. The breadth of his experience messing around with other guys comes down to some fumbled, fairly impersonal handys (as impersonal as an orgasm between two bros can ever really be), and a couple even clumsier bro-jobs. He’s not exactly an expert. He’s been with enough girls to know what he likes but the thought of applying that knowledge here, now, from the other side of things, it’s a bit daunting.

Still, like pretty much anyone else who does what he does, he’s not exactly known for a lack of follow-through or letting a few nerves get in the way of what he wants, and he really, really fucking wants. So he nods, a simple “Yeah, I’m good,” thinks Travis probably sees what he’s not saying, sees that he’s nervous, but sees that he’s not lying, either, and starts working open Travis’ belt.

His hands don’t shake, thank god, but he does think if he turns any redder he’s probably going to pass out. It’s hard not to get caught up in the burn of Travis’ eyes on him, he fumbles what he’s doing every time he looks up to be reminded of how clearly he’s wanted and finds Travis’ gaze hasn’t wavered one bit in its intensity. The fingers stroking through his hair, thumb sweeping across his jaw, don’t let him forget it, even when he’s not looking. Once he finally gets Travis unbuckled and unzipped he raises his hips a little so Nolan can tug down his slacks and briefs, hissing a little at the friction of it, and some small part of him had been nervous about seeing Travis’ cock up close and personal, like this. Afraid he’d discover he’d been wrong about it, wrong about himself, about what he wants, but that’s- well. It’s definitely not the case.

Travis' cock, swollen and leaking, makes Nolan ache with want, makes his mouth fucking water and there’s a slight undercurrent of revulsion to everything he’s feeling, some deep-seeded, insidious thought that he isn’t supposed to want this, that wanting this so badly he can’t even think of _not_ getting to have it now that it’s in front of him makes him fucked up and perverse and- fuck, it feels good, a little bit, to have that burning him up from the inside out.

Heartbeat held high in his throat by the nervous anticipation of what’s to come, Nolan shuffles forward a little so Travis’ knees are brushing his shoulders and reaches up to grab hold of his cock. There’s a tug to his hair, hard enough to send a brief, sharp pain lancing across his scalp and breathing new life into the heavy feeling of want in his abdomen that faded only minutes ago.

“No-fuck. Not like that, Pats.” Travis gently pushes his hand away, biting at his lip as he takes hold of the base of his cock with his free hand and uses the other to tilt Nolan’s head back a little, so he’s looking up at him properly. 

“Just- c’mere.” He tugs Nolan forward just a little, holding his cock just over his face, and it’s so utterly debasing but Nolan can’t help but thrill at the way Travis, who never shuts up, is struggling for words. “I want you to- just- fuck- no hands, alright?” Nolan’s pretty sure he knows where Travis is going with this, pretty sure he gets what he wants so he drops his hands back down to his thighs and grins as he pushes forward, straining against Travis’ hand in his hair just a little, to be able to run his tongue up the underside of Travis’ cock. It’s warm and heavy and fucking messy, there’s nothing graceful about the angle he’s at and Travis’ been leaking for a while, pre-come gathering on Nolan’s tongue as he goes but- fuck. The noise Travis makes, he definitely got it right.

“Fuck, Pats-“ Travis chokes out, fingers tightening in his hair. “Are you always this good, or is that just for me?” There’s a bit of a laugh to his breath and Nolan sinks back for a minute, feeling suddenly unsure.  
“I’m not- no one’s ever-“ Travis looks alarmed.  
“You mean you’re a-“  
“No- fuck. Definitely not. I just mean- this. No one’s ever- I’ve never done this. Not like this."

“Oh. Okay, yeah.” Travis breathes, and Nolan’s worry ebbs, he can see that Travis is trying hard to be good, to say the right thing, but he’s also not blind. He can see that he’s more than a bit into the idea of being the only one to have Nolan the way Nolan needs. Could see it from space. Travis is not a subtle guy. “Just- just tell me if it’s too much, okay?”  
“Think that much of yourself, Trav?”  
“Ha-ha, jackass. Guess that’s the thanks I get for trying to be- _fuck_ -“ he cuts himself off when Nolan pushes back up, enough to catch the tip of Travis’ cock and press a wet, open kiss to the heat of him, letting the mess of spit and Travis’ pre-come make a wreck of his lips and watching the way Travis shudders, throws his head back, swearing to himself as his fingers flex in Nolan’s hair.

It makes him crave more and there is truly, finally, no reason he can’t have it. Nolan pushes deeper to suck the head of Travis cock into his mouth, tease at the rim with his tongue, before letting him slip free again to press more slick, open kisses down the length of him, nipping at Travis’ knuckles, gone white where he’s holding himself, when he reaches the base of him before dipping down to nose at his balls. Licking softly and trying to look up at Travis, still, though the angle and his height don’t make it particularly easy. He gently sucks one into his mouth, careful not to tip into anything painful as he does, mouthing softly at both before pulling back when Travis tugs. Nolan gets the picture.

He readjusts and leans in to suck Travis’ cock into his mouth with a satisfied hum, letting his eyes fall shut so he can get familiar with the feel of him. Feels Travis’ shuddering groan, hand in his hair coming down to cup his neck, running a thumb along the line of his jaw while Nolan breathes heavy through his nose. Travis is heavy on his tongue, skin hot and salty and unyielding and the aching stretch of him in Nolan’s jaw has him getting hard again but right now all he wants is to focus on Travis’ pleasure, before his own.

The feeling of having someone in his mouth is relatively new- invasive but not bad, it’s a little awkward, finding a rhythm, but Travis lets go of his cock and brings both hands up to guide him, firm but not rough, and it helps him relax, a little. They’ve always been able to get on the same wavelength, work in tandem, and this is no different, it seems. Once he feels he has that down, he tries doing things he knows he’s liked in the past, moving his tongue along the lines of him as Travis’ cock drags back and forth over it, humming and making sure Travis knows he wants it. Knows there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, on his knees, with Travis’ cock stretching his lips wide enough to sting at the corners as he sinks just a little deeper down the length of him and he looks up at his best friend through eyes that are only just starting to cloud with the strain of Travis creeping closer and closer to his throat.

All the while Travis doesn’t shut up, and Nolan doesn’t particularly mind. Babbling about how good Nolan is, how fucking pretty he looks with his cock in his mouth, like he was made for it, made for him. He’s not sure how long it’s been when Travis tells him he’s “Gonna try something, alright?” And Nolan would let him do anything, right now, so he just hums his affirmation around Travis’ cock and lets Travis slip one hand back to the base of his head, fingers winding themselves through his hair, as the other comes down to skim his throat.

“You ready?” Nolan hums. “Just keep looking at me, alright baby?” The pet name makes him burn, still, but he goes with it.

This time, Travis is a little more firm with him when he guides his head forward and Nolan feels the stretch of him even more clearly with the way he begins thrusting up into Nolan’s mouth, just a bit. They keep going like that, Travis pushing just a little deeper, a little rougher each time until Nolan finds the urge to gag tickling at the back of his throat, until he can’t hold it back anymore and he can’t catch the reflex to wrench back off of Travis’ cock quickly enough to suppress it. Travis lets him go, though, and as he’s coughing and catching his breath he becomes all at once aware of the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, the way his lips throb and tingle, swollen up from use, the fact that he has some indeterminable mix of Travis’ pre-come and his own saliva wetting his lips and smeared around his mouth, leaking down his chin.

Travis is petting his hair, asking if he’s alright, but when Nolan goes to wipe his face off with the back of his hand his hand flies down do stop him.

“Leave it, you look too fucking good like that.” Which is all Nolan needs to hear to call attention the fact that choking on Travis’ dick has gotten him hard again. “C’mon, Pats. I know you can do better than that, babe.” Is all Travis really has to say to have Nolan leaning forward again, mouth open and eyes shining up at him as Travis pushes forward into his mouth again. This time, his hand cups one side of Nolan’s jaw while the other flattens itself along the column of his throat, this time, it feels closer to possession than guidance and everything about it makes Nolan feel like he’s melting.

When Nolan begins to feel that urge to gag again, he’s ready for it, steels himself against it, focuses instead on the scrape of Travis’ cock, just barely brushing his throat, the heady musk of him that fills Nolan’s senses, the moment where Travis pushes in just deep enough that breathing becomes impossible, getting longer each time and leaving him just a little dizzy. Travis keeps stroking his jaw, keeps teasing his fingers along his throat, keeps up a steady stream of words that Nolan’s going to hear echoing in his mind at the worst possible times, he knows it already.

_‘Christ, Pats. Never knew you could look like this. Fucking perfect, like you-’_

_’No one should be this easy, the way you take it-‘_

_’So glad it’s not just me. Fuck, I’ve thought about this for so-'_

It doesn’t stop, and It’s Travis’ words bouncing around in his head that give him what he needs to force himself not to choke when Travis finally pushes him all the way down his cock, until he’s gone blind with tears and his nose is buried in the thatch of hair at the base of his cock. Until he can’t help the horrible, wet noises that crawl up his throat as he does his best to swallow around Travis’ cock. Until he can feel Travis’ balls brushing up against his chin and can’t believe the shame that wells up inside him at how hard that gets him off.

They keep going like that, Travis fucking up into his throat, not too rough but relentlessly deep and Nolan thinks he might pass out if they don’t stop soon. Sometimes, when he pulls back, Travis will drag a thumb across Nolan's cheek and up to trace his lips, tugging at the corner a little where Nolan's already stretched so tight he can't help the whine it draws out of him. When he feels Travis’ fingers massaging at his throat, or rather, massaging at his own cock through Nolan’s throat, he can’t find it in himself to want it to stop. Not even for a moment.

By the time he lets Nolan pull off, his nails are digging marks into his thighs from how hard it was not to let instinct take over and push away and there are sparks dancing across his vision. He can feel that his hair’s all fucked up, hardly manages to stay sitting up straight, and he doesn’t even want to think about how he looks, with how used his mouth feels. He doesn’t have long to worry about it before Travis is there, though. Coming down off the bed to sink next to him and press himself close against his side before he seals their mouths together, hands everywhere, along his back, his face, through his hair. Nolan lets himself sink into it, not feeling quite up to talking, just yet. Lets Travis hold him and kiss him and soothe him, even if he’ll never admit to how good it feels, later.

Before long, it’s not enough, and he finds himself reaching out for Travis, leaning into their kisses and clutching at his back. Wanting so much he’s not sure anything is going to be enough. He just- he just wants Travis close.

It’s Travis who gentles the kiss and drops his head into the crook of Nolan’s neck, Travis who nudges at him and suggests they get back up on the bed. Nolan nods, mumbles some agreement, and lets Travis help him up to his feet and push him back onto the bed before he steps away to shuck off the last of his clothes. Whatever spell that had been keeping his awareness of his own arousal at bay breaks, and he is suddenly painfully aware of the ruined pillow at the foot of the bed, at the throbbing ache between his legs and the almost unbearable pressure swelling in his gut. He’s also very aware that Travis didn’t actually finish.

“Travis.” He’s surprised how much he makes his name sound like a plea despite the way his voice barely sounds like his own, always deep, but never near so rough as it is now. He reaches out, hands skimming along the skin of his stomach as Travis makes a desperate noise.

“Fuck- Pats, where do you keep your lube?”  
“Side table.” Nolan gestures towards it and Travis is there in an instant, frantically looking through the drawer until he comes away with lube in one hand and a triumphant smile on his face that’s just so fucking _Travis_ Nolan can’t help laughing, a little, until Travis more or less throws himself on top of him, spurring some serious deja-vu, and steals the laughter right from his lungs.

* * *

It’s a short wait while Travis gets him ready, they’re both officially too desperate to be anything resembling graceful as Travis slips lubed fingers inside him, still more or less good to go from earlier when he’d opened him up, and slicks himself up. Then, finally, Nolan’s lying on his back letting his legs fall open for Travis to crawl into, and what really gets him as he gets his legs up around his waist and his arms slung around his neck, is the way even after all they’ve done, Travis still sounds like he can’t fucking believe Nolan wants to let him do this. Him and no one else.

Travis has one hand braced above Nolan’s head, keeping himself held up enough that he can use the other to reach down between them and guide his cock up against the cleft of Nolan’s ass, feeling bigger and hotter and more solid than anything else Travis has had inside him tonight. They’re not so much kissing as they are sharing breath, foreheads bowed together, which is the only reason Nolan is pretty sure he’s not imagining the words he hears whispered between them just as he begins to press forward in earnest.

_‘Christ, I love you so much-‘_

Then it’s too late to know for sure because he’s caught up in the burning stretch of Travis’ cock splitting him open, the feel of his muscles shifting under Nolan’s hands and against his thighs, the heavy, unbelievable heat that makes him feel full in a way he’s never felt, so full he might choke on it, reaching into the deepest part of him and leaves him completely vulnerable like he can’t imagine allowing with anyone else. Travis bottoms out and stays there, for a moment, while they both learn to breathe again.

Nolan feels as he lets his weight drop down onto him, drops his mouth to press kisses into Nolan’s neck, running his hands everywhere he can reach as he tentatively begins pulling back and thrusting forward, just a little, and the feeling- so strange and intimate he doesn’t quite have the words for it, pulls a gasp from Nolan’s lungs.

“Keep going.”

He can’t quite make sense of Travis’ reply, mumbled into his skin, but he certainly seems to listen because he’s working himself back and forward a little more each time and it’s fucking overwhelming, it feels good, yeah, but Nolan can’t quite parse how much of that is down to raw sensation, and how much is the simple, undeniable feeling of Travis, there. So, so close it feels hard to tell where they part. Even up until now, he’s not sure he ever fully understood how this would feel, how badly he wanted it but now it’s- it’s so much more raw and real and irreplaceable than he ever imagined.

Travis gets his knees tucked under them a little, for leverage, and drags a pillow over to shove under Nolan’s back, Nolan hitches his legs up a little higher, starts working himself up to meet his thrusts and together they find a rhythm. All skin slick with sweat dragging over each other and fingers digging in too hard for anyone who sees them in the locker room any time soon not to know what they’ve been doing, but Nolan couldn’t give less of a shit, right now. He feels the drag of Travis’ treasure trail up against his leaking cock, feels the heavy, relentless weight of Travis inside him, feels every panted breath and half-spoken word Travis is whispering into his skin, and can’t imagine why he ever tried to run away from this.

They don’t last long, not that either of them expects to, at this point, before they’re both losing their rhythm. Hips stuttering and skin burning, breaths coming in uneven, desperate bouts, and Travis whispering _“Nolan, Nolan, Nolan,”_ into his pulse again and again as he manages to get a hand between them to wrap around his cock. Travis hips stutter and stall, bottomed out and grinding up into him as he squeezes and strokes at his cock and Nolan comes with Travis’ name on his lips and the feeling of warmth inside him that tells him Travis is right there with him.

* * *

It’s a long moment, between finishing wound up tight in each other’s arms, and Travis pulling out which is- not the best feeling Nolan’s ever experienced, and Nolan can’t quite seem to catch his breath. It’s not- he doesn’t know how to feel normal again. He’s dreading the moment Travis is going to pull away, but it never comes, instead he just sits up enough to drag the covers out from under them so he can manhandle Nolan underneath them before cuddling up close, slinging a leg over Nolan’s own, and dragging Nolan’s arms around him.

“C’mon, Pats. I did all the work, now I get to be the little spoon.”  
“No you didn’t, dipshit.” Nolan huffs. “And this isn’t spooning.“  
“Shhhh.” Travis protests, looking across the pillow at him with an expression Nolan doesn’t have the nerve to name. “It’s spooning if I say it’s spooning. Now, go to sleep so I don’t have to feel like an asshole for passing out before you do.”

It’s so painfully, stupidly familiar, despite the fact that it’s not familiar at all, it’s enough to quiet something inside Nolan, let him catch his breath again, let him feel the exhaustion of the last few hours settle into his bones and drag him under.

* * *

Waking up is strange. It’s definitely strange. He’s sore all over and covered in more mess than he really wants to think about, next to him, Travis is still asleep. There’s a minute where he’s surprised, Travis has always been a morning person, so full of energy it’s like he can’t physically bear sleeping in, like his body rejects the idea so wholeheartedly it’s not even an option, but when he looks outside he’s a little startled to realize it’s still dark out and- shit, what time was it when Travis came over, was it even dark yet? How long were they at it? How long did they sleep? Everything’s a bit of a haze and it feels, on top of everything else, disorienting enough to have a horrible, horrible anxiety crawling up his chest and winding around his heart.

He thinks about waking Travis up, doesn’t want him to think he’s just fuck and run, but really, this is his apartment, where’s he going to run to? So he takes the chance to have a while on his own to sort his thoughts out, and shifts away carefully until he’s able to get out of the bed without waking him.

* * *

Once he’s checked his phone, surprised to find it’s only just past 10pm, showered, brushed his teeth- at which point he’d discovered how much his jaw and throat are aching, downed a gatorade, tossed on some clean sweats, and generally found himself being made aware of the many new and exciting ways in which his body can ache- he’d really thought he’d more or less gotten those all down, by now, but Travis does live to surprise- he finds himself sitting on the couch feeling significantly less freaked out than he’d expected.

It’s not that anything he’s been feeling has gone away, at all. Pretty much the opposite, the difference is that it all feels settled, now. Like- like Travis has given him not just permission to feel it, but permission to embrace it and just let it be. Like he doesn’t have to fight it, anymore. It’s a good feeling. The reality is, he knows he’s in love with his best friend. Has known it forever, and he also knows that Travis is the one who broached things between them, Travis is the one who needed to hear that it was more than just sex, Travis is the one who said- well, Nolan’s not stupid enough to put a hell of a lot of stock in anything anyone says during sex, but paired with the way Travis had looked at him, felt him, fucked him, it’s just- fuck. His hopes are up, and he’s pretty sure it won’t be for naught.

Is it still a terrible idea to date his teammate and best friend and almost-roommate? Probably.

Does he even know, for sure, that that’s what Travis wants? No.

But he feels oddly okay about it, like maybe none of it is the best idea, but trying for it is the only option, so there’s nothing left to fret about.

He’s just put up something easy on the television and finished placing an order for delivery from their favourite sushi place when Travis skids into the living room wearing only his briefs, still thoroughly a mess and looking seriously harried. Nolan can’t help smiling and refuses to feel stupid about it.

“I- fuck- I thought you left?” Nolan grins.  
“This is my apartment.” And it’s a seriously nice change to see Travis be the one going red, for once. For a minute there’s silence, and Nolan savours the rare moment where Travis has no words.  
“Are you- uh, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  
“Jesus, Trav. Don’t give yourself too much credit.”  
“Fuck- no. Shut up. I just woke up and you were gone and I thought- I don’t know what I thought, I just-“ Travis pauses looking truly lost, and it’s enough to make Nolan’s heart break a little when he finishes with, “I worried, is all.” And Nolan can see him closing up in that rare, awful when he does when he thinks he’s taken things too far, been too much, and that’s just exactly what Nolan doesn’t want, right now.

“Travis, come here.” He still looks unusually hesitant. “Please?”

Travis comes and sits down next to him, clearly being careful to leave some distance, like he really thinks Nolan is going to be upset if he touches him. He appreciates the thought, but he really, really couldn’t be more wrong.

“Look,” Travis begins, unable to look him in the eyes, “If I said anything-“ And honestly? Nolan knows the difference between a Travis that’s full of regret and a Travis that’s just mortified at himself, and this is definitely the latter. Nolan is tired and achey and all he wants right now is to have Travis here, with him and acting like himself so they can stuff themselves with sushi and watch a terrible movie and fall asleep together. He has officially run out of patience for anything else.

He reaches up, turns Travis’ face towards him, and cuts him off with a kiss. There’s a moment where he wants to roll his eyes when Travis freezes against him, but then he gets with the program and brings his hands up to either side of Nolan’s neck, sinking into the kiss. They don’t get too carried away, still tired out from earlier, but when they pull apart they stay slumped together.

“Oh, thank god.” Is what Travis speaks into the space between them.  
“I love you.” Is what Nolan replies with, and Travis pulls back to stare at him, holding his head firmly in his hands.  
“You what?” He asks, dumbly.  
“I love you. Don’t make me fucking say it again.” The way Travis is staring at him has Nolan’s embarrassment catching up with him and he’s starting to squirm when Travis’ face finally breaks into a blinding grin and he declares, “Thank god, because I’m fucking stupid over you. I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”

“You’re always stupid.” Nolan finds himself saying before he can think about it. “How was I supposed to tell the diff-“ That’s about as far as he gets before Travis is tackling him off the couch, trying to smother him with a throw pillow.

* * *

Once they’ve made out some more, eaten, changed the sheets, and Nolan has bullied Travis into showering and using a spare toothbrush, they end up cuddled up on the couch together. Travis is talking bullshit- like he ever stops, about the movie they’re watching when he stops, suddenly, and looks Nolan in the face.

“I really fucking love you too, just so you know.”

Nolan turns red, hates it, and then it’s his turn to pin Travis and smother him with the throw. They don’t end up managing to pay any attention to the rest of the movie, and neither of them could care less. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully, no-one minds that I got a little sappy and a lot gross, as that's probably exactly what I've got in store for the future. 
> 
> Feel free to say hello/drop a request here or at my [brand new, super secret hockey RPF tumblr](https://netsticksnchill.tumblr.com) 🖤


End file.
